


By The Wading Pool

by Hoodoo



Series: Orcish Inamorato [6]
Category: Orcs - Fandom, Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Masturbation, Other, Personal Grooming, Self-Pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 02:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20922779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: An Orc's private thoughts, and some self-indulgence. Set during chapter 3 of"And So It Begins".





	By The Wading Pool

With a grunt, Grar shrugged himself out of his tunic, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. He sat on a rock to remove his boots, then loosened the leather ties of his pants and took them off as well. For the moment, he left all his clothing in a messy pile as he stretched, enjoying the freedom of nudity under the sun.

His weapons were neatly stored away from the river’s edge, and after he finished his stretching, he gathered up his discarded clothing and folded it neatly too, leaving it near his daggers.

He took a step closer to the edge gave a quick inspection of the rocks and logs he’d used to dam some of the river, forming a pool where the water was still and deep. In the spring, when the water raced down from the top of the mountain it would all wash away and he would have to dam it again, but now, mid-summer, it held strong and steady.

Since his feet were already in the water, Grar crouched and cupped his hand to take a drink. Over the noise of the river there came the sound of gravel shifting. He picked his head up, looking over his shoulder. It would be unlikely a bear would try and come up on him, but sabre cats were another beast entirely. The noise didn’t repeat; there was no distinctive crunch of stealthy feet moving towards him. The wind was blowing towards his back, where the noise had originated, and there was no odor of a cat’s musk.

When he was satisfied it was nothing, the Orc took another palmful of water and drank again. 

Straightening up again, his fingers found the small ties behind his head used to keep his braid in place. He loosened them and tossed them towards his pile of clothing, then shook his head and pulled his fingers through his hair to unbind its plait. Free, it tickled his back and sides.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the pool. He’d dug a drop off only a step or two past the bank, and then it was deep enough for the waters to be chest height. Instead of waiting until he’d acclimated to the chilly water he simply submerged himself completely.

Under the water everything was muted. There was no real sound, and although he could see, the rippling of the water as it continued to flow made things blurry. He stayed under until his lungs just began asking for air again, then he stood up with an open-mouthed gasp. Gooseflesh had broken out on him, and he rubbed himself vigorously to force some heat back into his muscles. 

He waded back closer to the bank and to the small cache of piled stones nearby. He’d stored pieces of flannel and a small sliver of tallow soap there, and retrieved them. 

Even though the weave was not the finest, between Grar’s fingers the fabric felt soft. It was a bit of the cloth that had wrapped a loaf of bread gifted to him, and as he hadn’t used it yet, it still carried a very faint scent of the woman who’d given it to him. He almost wished it didn’t need used as a washcloth, but here it was.

Dipping it into the water and rubbing the soap enough to make lather, he cleaned himself. It didn’t take long and by the time he was done the water no longer felt chilly. Finishing with his hair, he let the river strip away the suds in it before finally climbing back out onto the bank.

The sun felt especially good now, baking the wetness off his skin, so Grar didn’t dress immediately. He used a bigger piece of cloth to squeeze some of the water out of his hair; from experience he knew it would take longer to dry if he didn’t. It occurred to him that he needed a shave as well, so he picked his way carefully over the gravel at the river’s edge to his stored weapons. 

Testing both daggers he’d brought with him, he used the sharper of the two to methodically remove the hair on the sides of his head. More delicately he shaved around his ears, and the final part, the most difficult because he had no mirror, was the back of his head just under his topknot.

He rinsed his blade and splashed water over his head to wash away the loose hair, then dried himself again. 

The faint sound of gravel shifting reached his ears once more, but again, there was nothing else to alarm him, so Grar disregarded it.

Personal grooming complete, the Orc thought briefly of what he needed to get done. There was still a trap line to scout and wood always needed chopping, but the warmth of the sun made him want to just bask for a bit. If his kin could see him they’d deride him for acting like Lizardfolk! Despite the work that he should attend to, nothing was truly pressing. He made his way to a boulder with a top worn smooth and sat down. 

The rock was even warmer under him and he lay back, allowing the heat to soak into his shoulders. 

Eyes closed due to the brightness of the sun, his mind wandered, as it often did, to the woman who more and more frequently crept into his thoughts. He didn’t know why he was drawn to her. She was hard-working, yes, but that was a way of life here, and didn’t necessarily make her special. Living outside the Stronghold he’d learned that some humans tolerated him but most wanted little to do with him, even if they were willing to buy or trade for his furs and leather. He’d heard his share of slurs and obscenities tossed his way, and men telling their women to stay out of sight when he was walking through a village.

But she seemed to accept him instead of thinking him less than a man, or shying away and being frightened of him. She’d helped him. Grar had never had a human lay gentle hands on him, and although hers were small and although her fingertips were calloused, he had liked it. She accepted his unspoken offer of assistance near her hut, and he had liked that she seemed practical.

She looked nothing like an Orc, of course: her skin was not the color of one, and she had no tusks. She was not muscled like female Orcs were, but she was solid and accustomed to work, unlike some of the willowy waif-like women he’d spied riding in carriages. She looked as odd to him as he had no doubt he looked like to her, but the more time he spent with her the more she occupied his thoughts. He’d given up trying to convince himself that he should have no interest in her, even though she was human!

His thoughts, as they often seemed to recently, turned to the feel of her hands again. He remembered them on his shoulder, on his arrow wound, and as always lately, his mind slipped to how soft her skin would be on other parts of her. Her arms, her neck, in more private spots, like under her clothing . . . 

Along with losing himself in the idea of touching her, Grar easily recalled the smell of her too. Wood smoke and crushed green plants. Sometimes fresh sap too, from all the work they did together felling trees and chopping logs. Under all of it was a musky, womanly scent that lit a spark of desire in him.

Just laying here under the sky, thinking about her, his cock filled. 

Grar didn’t open his eyes. His hand slipped to his groin with ease of practice and encircled his shaft. Giving himself a lazy stroke, he imagined his hand was hers and a deeper vibration of arousal nestled in his gut.

He knew the illusion could be more complete if he used a bit of the fabric she’d given him, as he'd done before, alone in his cabin, but he didn’t want to sit up and break the rhythm his hand had settled into. He stroked himself leisurely, at first squeezing the base of his cock before loosening his grip as he moved towards the tip. Repeating it, he could have drawn out the easy pleasure of it.

A sudden, unexpected thought of her mouth on the head of his cock jumped into his mind, and he let his fist give a slight pinch there, as if her lips had done it. He jumped, a little, and moaned aloud. 

Now that the image of her mouth was there, he focused higher on his cock. The gold bar that had been pierced just under the head made that area more sensitive, but he deliberately bypassed it. Instead he rubbed his thumb over the head, smearing the slick pre-come that leaked from him. The smooth motion made him open his mouth to pant.

His groin felt on fire. Bliss radiated upward, towards his chest, and Grar didn’t try to stop it. He could slow down, ease himself back to a lower level of arousal to let the flames burn longer, but instead he wanted it all to peak. He used his other hand to give a flick to his piercing, and the imagined mouth on his cock shifted to her pussy, tight and sweet around him, his length buried deep in her heat.

Grar moaned with each quickening twist of his wrist and each tiny pull on the bar. His thoughts flooded with images of her before him, under him, atop him. She was smaller and the color of her skin against his would be stark. He didn't care. He wanted her. He wanted her with him, wanted to ravish her, wanted to protect her, wanted her to be his alone. Ecstasy finally overtook him, and he came with a heavy groan, spilling his seed over his hand and onto his stomach. 

His cock throbbed in his loosened fist, residual pleasure sending tiny jolts through him. By the time he felt able to lift his head and survey the sticky mess on his stomach and hand, he’d caught his breath. 

Carefully, Grar peeled himself off the rock and made his way back to the river. He wiped himself clean and used the cloth to dry himself this time, then pulled his clothing back on. His cock slowly lost its erection and he tied his pants loosely for the moment. By the time it was soft again he’d collected everything he needed to take back to his cabin, and he retied his pants appropriately. 

As he made his way back home, he decided it was time to truly invite the woman that dominated his mind's eye as he pleasured himself to his cabin. He wasn’t completely sure she thought of him as he did her, but it may be time to find out. 

_fin!_


End file.
